Does It Have To Be A Wolf?
by Anderida
Summary: Derek's reluctance to talk about sex or relationships had Stiles thinking that he was a bit of a prude who got easily embarrassed. Yeah, that didn't sound like Derek. Part 2 of "Does It Have To Be" Trilogy. Sequel to Does It Have To Be A Girl? Early Season 2. Some bad language. Stiles/Derek.


Derek's reluctance to talk about sex or relationships had Stiles thinking that he was a bit of a prude who got easily embarrassed. Yeah, that didn't sound like Derek.

_The Magnus Bane asked for a sequel to __**Does It Have To Be A Girl? **s__o here it is. Early Season 2-ish. Some bad language. Stiles/Derek. Brief mention of Scott, Allison, Lydia and a goldfish. Shall I write an epilogue and make this a trilogy?_

_Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is not mine. Stiles and Derek do not belong to my pack but I often pretend that they do._

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**Does It Have To Be A Wolf?**

Stiles knew his own limitations. He was never going to be a permanent fixture on first line, never going to match Danny's stellar hacking skills, never give Lydia any kind of competition for the Fields Medal in math. He had an attention span that would shame a goldfish, and he'd grown up with the knowledge that physical grace and 'James Bond' suave were not part of his genetic code. He was acutely aware that others based their judgement of him on those failings.

They mostly didn't get that he was also loyal, trustworthy, quick-witted, and had an awesome sense of humour. He strongly suspected that he had a great capacity for love too, although he conceded that he had not yet had an opportunity to empirically test this theory, his longstanding lust for Lydia notwithstanding.

So, as his fingers flew across his laptop keyboard, Stiles was smiling smugly to himself, confident that his resourcefulness and latent intellect would soon be able to crack the little conundrum that was bugging him.

It had been on his mind since that bizarre evening the week before when Derek had become his study-buddy for his history test. Although, 'bizarre' didn't seem a strong enough word to adequately describe what had happened that evening. Not only had Derek helped Stiles revise for his test, but he had offered to lend an ear should Stiles feel the need to talk to someone, now that Allison was monopolising Scott.

As if that wasn't weird enough, Stiles had scored the highest mark he'd ever had in any history test, causing Mr Hennessey to give him pointed looks that suggested he thought Stiles had cheated and he was going to prove it if it took the rest of his teaching career to do so.

But the weirdness didn't stop there. Stiles had obviously misread the whole situation with Derek – which given the combination of personalities involved wasn't that much of a surprise – because when Derek had been asking about … well, okay, Stiles had got his wires crossed because Derek had been the perfect gentleman all evening. Although, if Stiles was at all inclined to examine his feelings on the matter, which he most certainly was not, he might have felt a little ambiguous about that.

Derek had been an almost-perfect study partner (he wasn't going to win any awards for patience, but, hey: werewolf!) and he was actually quite good at listening when Stiles had grumbled about Lydia having a Jackson-shaped blind spot.

But Stiles hadn't seen Derek since that evening when he'd suddenly disappeared out of Stiles' bedroom window mumbling, "Your father will be home soon".

Now Stiles had been pretty sure that Derek knew his dad wasn't due back until morning, and Derek had lunged for the open window mid-sentence. Stiles had intended to ask him why the rush next time he saw him, but Mr Sour Wolf hadn't been around since then, not even to see how Stiles had got on in the test, which had left him with a sense of unease – that he assured himself wasn't disappointment.

With Derek MIA, Stiles had been a little concerned about the Alpha's safety, as ridiculous as that sounded, but Scott had seen Derek the following evening and two days after that and seemed a little incredulous that Stiles was even asking.

So Stiles had examined his memories of the evening to try to deduce what had made Derek bolt.

At the time, they had moved on from the whole Lydia debacle to discuss the Scott/Allison pairing that had Stiles feeling a little neglected, although he was over the moon (if that idiom wasn't species-inappropriate) for his best friend. This had prompted Stiles to ask about werewolf mating conventions because, Allison being a non-wolf and, worse, a hunter's daughter, Stiles had wondered if this would cause Scott any problems. Perhaps werewolves were only meant to date other wolves.

Derek had seemed unwilling to give any details about werewolf 'bonding' (his word) at this point in their conversation and Stiles had found himself struggling to keep the discussion on topic. He would ask what he thought was a straightforward question and Derek would side-track and obfuscate to dodge it. On reflection, Derek's reluctance to talk about sex or relationships had Stiles thinking that he was a bit of a prude who got easily embarrassed. Yeah, that didn't sound like Derek.

Which was why Stiles was trying to find a credible source of information about werewolf mating habits on the internet. Not easy, when half the references also contained the word, 'Jacob' and most of the rest featured woodcut drawings that had more to do with keeping medieval societies within Church-defined moral boundaries, than giving any insight into mating etiquette.

Stiles was beginning to think that he would have to bite the silver bullet, so to speak, and go find Derek to get it straight from the wolf's mouth, and to hell with the consequences, but at that moment fate intervened, in the shape of said Derek climbing through the window into Stiles' bedroom as if by some supernatural wish-fulfilment spell.

"Long time no see," Stiles said, his tone neutral, his features hard.

"Been busy," came the terse reply.

"Yeah, got the memo on that. Well, actually, no. No memo, no email, no text, no phone call." Stiles was surprised by the anger he began to feel rising in him.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, totally side-stepping the verbal barb Stiles had lobbed in his direction. He sat himself down on the edge of Stiles' bed and stretched his hands out, linking his fingers and flexing them.

"If you're interested, and I get that you're probably not, I'm researching the mating habits, customs, mores, practices of consenting werewolves, um, if 'consenting' is even a concept in your, um, community."

"No, it's not. Generally."

"Good to know," Stiles said flatly, before deciding to cut to the chase and get the answer he was looking for.

"Does it have to be a wolf?"

"Don't believe everything you read on the internet," Derek said curtly, as if that was a sufficient response.

Stiles looked over at Derek, and was surprised to see that the usual bravado that oozed out of the man was missing. He looked a little subdued, as though he hadn't slept in a while, which Stiles hadn't thought possible. Not about not sleeping; he guessed even werewolves weren't immune to insomnia, but he hadn't expected lack of sleep to be so physically obvious, particularly on the poster-wolf for unnaturally speedy healing.

The other thing Styles noticed was that Derek wasn't looking at him. Derek usually did staring as if it was a physical requirement for continued existence, a bit like breathing. He looked directly at you as if he was daring you to make something of it, even if you were just discussing the weather.

So a furtive, wrecked-looking werewolf who wouldn't make eye contact was all kinds of unnerving, and frankly, Stiles had had enough.

"Ok, Derek. Spill!"

Derek did look at him then, but only to draw his brows together as if waiting for a killer punchline.

"Usually, when you get asked a question it's polite to answer," Stiles tried, his tone half way between exasperation and resignation.

"What do you want to know?" Derek asked looking away to stare out of the open window again.

"Okay, I assume my last question is off the table," Stiles said bitterly, "so, let's start with something simple. An explanation of what happened last week would be good. You being all palsy-walsy, then pulling a disappearing act for no reason. Then going all 'silent running' like I was an Allied gunboat and you were leader of, um, a wolf-pack."

"But I am," Derek said calmy, looking back at Stiles briefly.

"Cut the crap, Derek!" Stiles pushed back from his desk to roll his chair closer to ensure he had Derek's undivided attention.

"I have pack responsibilities now, Stilinski."

The use of Stiles last name was like a slap to his face. A week ago, Derek had sat in this very room, called him by his first name and talked like someone who might be a friend. An odd, scowling, shape-shifting, rip-your-throat-out-if-you-cross-me friend, but still ….

"Get out!" Stiles could feel his anger pushing to the surface. "Get the fuck out!"

Derek slowly got to his feet. Stiles stood up too, to feel less intimidated by the Alpha's physical presence, and because he needed to dispel some of the rage he was feeling, which was curling in his stomach like an over-wound spring.

Derek took a step towards the window and stopped. He was staring at Stiles now but his expression was neutral; blank almost. Then he seemed to mentally shake himself and refocus on the window.

Before he'd taken another step Stiles shot his hand out and grasped Derek's forearm, just below his elbow, mirroring their stance in the parking lot one week before.

Derek made no move to dislodge Stiles' hand, but turned bodily away from the window to face him, an eyebrow raised.

"Thanks to you, I got 97% on that test," Stiles informed Derek quietly. "Only Lydia got a higher mark, and I think Hennessey gets her to set the questions for him. Thank you."

Derek blinked but said nothing.

"And, I think talking to you about Lydia helped. You know, gave me a bit of perspective. Although her total distain for me may have played a part.

"But here's the thing; I thought you had offered to, I dunno, step in for Scott when he's not around for best friend duty. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I heard you say I could talk to you and you would listen.

"But I guess you meant you'd be listening from another county with your wolf super-hearing because I've not seen you since then. I've seen more of Scott, and he's spending practically every waking moment with his tongue down Allison's throat.

"Mere mortal that I am, I'd assumed you meant that you'd hang out with me. And, yeah, I know how lame that sounds now I've said it out loud."

Stiles released Derek's arm and sat back on his chair, swivelling round to face his laptop. With his face burning, he began closing the myriad of tabs that he'd opened on werewolf lore.

"I'm an Alpha now. I have responsibilities." Derek stated bleakly.

Stiles thought he sounded as though he was asking for understanding, acceptance even, but he wasn't sure if he wanted it from Stiles or from himself. Perhaps both.

"Yeah, I get it: With great power comes great responsibility."

"Voltaire," Derek said in a tone that may have indicated amazement.

"Stan Lee," Stiles stated emphatically before continuing, "I'm still a human with no powers, super or otherwise, no responsibilities beyond not getting kicked out or held back at school, no girlfriend, or, you know, boyfriend, and a distracted, frequently absent, best friend. Sorry, did you have a point?"

Stiles closed his internet browser and opened his English essay file. He could feel Derek hovering and he sighed.

"Don't let the window blind hit you on the way out," he mumbled.

"I'll go," Derek said at last, moving to the window and swinging his legs over the sill, "but in answer to your question …"

Stiles looked over, narrowing his eyes, "My question?"

And then Derek was gone, but his parting words hung in the air like pollen:

"I always thought it had to be a wolf. I'm not sure now."

~ FIN ~

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A/N: If you want an epilogue you know what you have to do. :-)


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